


Eat Dirt

by throwashadow



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2024238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwashadow/pseuds/throwashadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William is nine years old. Today was not a good day to get thrown out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat Dirt

Grandma threw him out of the house again. It was a temporary thing, of course, just her trying to get him out of her hair for a few hours. And it happened a lot, near daily, but he usually went of his own free will rather than having the back door slammed in his face. That was the worst part. It made him feel like Grandma didn't want him around at all, like she wanted him gone forever, and that slam was supposed to scare him off for good. He'd scamper off and find something to do alone, some patch of woods to explore or an animal to follow around. 

But he was never sure when to come back. On the rare occasion that the other neighborhood kids would include him, when he was so bored he wedged himself in and endured the sarcasm and jeers, they always seemed to have a time limit. Moms wanted them home before dusk, or the Moms themselves would call out, or come to retrieve them. William wandered back when everyone else was gone, then. When he was alone, he had to guess when he'd been gone long enough.

Today was not a good day to get thrown out. They were assigned a group project in history class. History was his favorite! But Mr. Gallo let them pick groups themselves. "You have two minutes to form groups," he'd said, and William tried to ask the kids on either sides of his desk. No, they already had groups. William wasn't sure where to go from there. The two minutes went by far too fast, and he was left groupless. He was too afraid to raise his hand when Mr. Gallo asked, "Who doesn't have a group yet?"

He didn't want a group! He could do the project himself!

At least, he'd told himself that the rest of the day. The more he told himself the more angry he was at himself for not being able to talk to the other kids. It made his chest sink stomach hurt to think about

When he got home, he just wanted to eat a snack and relax. Maybe ask Grandpa to tell him a story -- that always cheered him up. And then he'd watch TV. He wanted to forget about school, mostly. If he stopped thinking about the group project, his stomach might hurt a little less.

But this plan was not in accordance with Grandma's. As soon as William set down his bookbag in the doorway, Grandma's voice rang out from the den.

"William! Is that you?"

He stepped into the kitchen, starting towards the fridge. "Yes, it's me."

She peeked out of the den, her voice a bit louder this time. "What are you doing in here? Go outside, you've been cooped up at school all day!"

"I just wanted a snack," he said. He found an apple and bit into it.

Grandma emerged fully from the other room, but she didn't move from just outside its door. "Go outside," she said again, firmer this time, and then disappeared back through the door.

This was typical from her, but usually she was in the kitchen or the living room, trying to fix dinner or to work on a cross-stitching. The den was Grandpa's domain, not hers.

With that in mind, William left the kitchen towards the den. He should know better than to not do what Grandma was telling him, but something seemed wrong. 

"William, I hear you out there! GET OUT!"

"OKAY!" he yelled back, and left through the front door. He slammed itself in Grandma's preoccupation.

 

Now what? He sat on the porch and finished his apple within the minute. Grandma yelling was nothing new, but why was she in the den, and why wouldn't she leave it?

Maybe Grandpa had gone crazy and was threatening her. 

He didn't want to think about that any more than he wanted to think about the group project. But it was hard not to think when you weren't doing anything!

Out in the street, three kids were riding their bikes, zipping up and down, over and over, yelling about first and second place. Looked like they were racing.

William's bike was in the shed, and he wasn't supposed to go in there without Grandpa...he didn't WANT to go in there without Grandpa, really. It was dumb, but the metal structure scared him a little.

He really hoped Grandpa hadn't gone crazy. Grandpa wasn't his dad's dad, but it would be just his luck for that to happen again.

William ran out into the street, despite not having his bike. Sitting around wasn't going to make him feel better. He trailed behind the bikers on their race lap until he was out of breath, which didn't take too long.

The bikers braked a few feet ahead of him as he stopped. "What are you DOING?" one of them asked.

"Racing you," William said, realizing as he said it how stupid it sounded. Who would race a biker without a bike?

The kids all looked at each other and then started laughing. "Eat dirt," one of them said, and they pedaled away at max speed.

William watched them ride away and kicked at the road. Eat dirt. Stupid. The road here was gravel, anyway.

 

When he got back home, Grandma was on the porch. "Go get your backpack," she said. "You're going to stay with your aunt for tonight. Grandpa got sick and had to go to the hospital."

"Is Grandpa okay?" William asked.

"I don't know."

But if Grandma was okay, that meant things hadn't gone like that again.

 

The next day after school, William sat at the creek in his aunt's backgyard with his cousin. John had a fishing pole in the water, but wasn't paying it much mind, instead flipping through a comic book. 

William stuck his hand into the mud at the waterline. He liked the moisture of it, the coolness, but Grandma hated when he came home with mud on his hands. Everyone seemed to hate little things about him, even though he just did things that felt right.

Eat dirt, those kids had said yesterday. It made him think of the group project, and of Grandpa going crazy like his dad did. His stomach started to hurt.

He scooped up a handful of dirt, further from the water, drier than the mud which felt slick on his fingers. Tentatively, he gave it a lick. It was metallic and left gritty pieces all over his tongue. John definitely wasn't paying attention, if he hadn't said anything. 

Eat dirt. William wondered why certain things felt right to him when everyone else hated him for doing them. Maybe he was just supposed to be hated. He took another bite.

**Author's Note:**

> Borrowed cousin John from hatebeat's fic canon. And yeah, Thunderbolt had his stroke.


End file.
